


The Road to Barad-dur and Back: Missing Moments

by Susana Rosa (SusanaR)



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe (DH AU) D version [42]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Champion - Freeform, F/M, Family, Friendship, Galadriel - Freeform, Gen, Humor, March to Barad-dur, Old Friends, Secrets, War, War of the Ring, lock of hair, march to the death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 21:27:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1617647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/Susana%20Rosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cut-scenes and missing moments from The Road to Barad-dur and Back.  </p><p>New Chapter: Truly Awful </p><p>New Chapter Summary: Aragorn's friends and family talk about Kings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First Chapter Summary: Elladan, Elrohir, and Gandalf have known one another for a very long time. Aragorn was not the first Heir of Isildur whom they have known, and loved. Elladan has begun to suspect that Aragorn may already not be the last heir of Isildur, even though he will most likely be the last whom they will know. 
> 
> Quotes: 
> 
> "And have you marked the brethren Elladan and Elrohir? Less sombre is their gear than the others', and they are fair and gallant as Elven-lords; and that is not to be wondered at in the sons of Elrond of Rivendell.'" - J.R.R. Tolkien, RotK, The Passing of the Grey Company 
> 
> "Elladan and Elrohir were out upon errantry: for they rode often far afield with the Rangers of the North, forgetting never their mother's torment in the dens of the orcs." - J.R.R. Tolkien, FotR, Many Meetings

Elladan thought, as his hands aided with the tasks of preparing a camp, tasks he could do with his eyes shut. It was a good time for thinking. Today he pondered Aragorn's vision, of the woman and the children and the tree. And wondered, about the man beside the woman whom he had not quite been able to see. He did not think that Aragorn had seen him, but the unseen man had shared Aragorn's height, and something about his manner as well. Halbarad, Aragorn's cousin who had died just days ago at the Battle of the Pelennor, was much in Elladan's mind. 

*Finduilas of Dol Amroth was an interesting child.* Elladan told his brother that night, in the silent language they had shared since their youngest years, *I met her, once, in Lothlorien. She studied with Daernaneth Galadriel.* 

*Her second son is also interesting. The black breath should have killed him once, and the despair again. And yet he lived, though his allergy to the poppy juice the human healers gave him 'ere we arrived should have killed him yet a third time.* Elrohir mused, his fingers flicking to convey the depth of his confusion. The twins knew that their sister and their foster-brother believed that the gestures were necessary to the twins' language. They were not. The gestures and motions gave it added emphasis, and they convinced anyone who watched that it was something that could be prevented, this silent communication between the twins. But in truth, it could not. If they were within several miles of one another, the twins could speak to one another. 

*Halbarad shared Aragorn's allergy to poppy. Even though it is rare, amongst their people.* Elladan mused. 

"Rare, amongst any people. And often deadly.* Agreed Elrohir. 

*Halbarad, like Aragorn, is descended of Firiel of Gondor. From her son's daughter and not her son's son, but after Aragorn, his would have been the best claim to Isildur's legacy. And Halbarad was in Gondor with Aragorn. Aragorn said that there was a woman, whom Halbarad loved. One whom he kept a secret.* Elladan theorized. 

*Halbarad would not have slept with a married woman.* Elrohir disagreed. After a pause, he added, *Or at least not lightly. Perhaps, with the wife of a man who would burn his own son to death. Perhaps with such a man's wife. I do not know.* 

*You heard what Aragorn told us, what he saw. You know what it means, even though he does not seem to realize. This land responded to the child Faramir of the House of Hurin as if he was of the line of its rightful King.* Elladan pointed out. 

Elrohir thought for a moment. *Perhaps Aragorn's decision to leave a will naming Faramir as the next King, should he fall, was a better one even than we might have thought. If we do not return, Faramir will have that legacy to aid him, as well. If we do return...* 

Elladan considered that, *If we do return, we should be sure, 'ere we say anything. But it bears thinking on, either way. And...it is good, that 'contingency plan Arwen' might have an Heir of Isildur of its own. Arwen would like Faramir, I think.*

*And will, should we return. If we could prove Halbarad's parentage, it might relieve the pressure on her, a bit.* 

*Perhaps. But, for beings who do not always hold procreation as sacred to marriage, humans are surprisingly touchy about children born out of wedlock. We must be careful.* 

The twins were in agreement, on that. 

Elladan mused on it again the next day, as he watched his baby brother herd men. Mused on what it might mean, having a spare heir. A child with Mithrellas' bloodline and many-times over Elros's. Another card to play, certainly, if they fell, and Middle Earth would then find itself reliant on Arwen for hope of salvation, even though she did not yet know it. 

"What is on your mind, Elladan Elrondion?" Asked Gandalf, the Grey Wanderer. Mithrandir the Wizard, who was in truth Olorin, the Maia. Elladan's father's friend, Elladan's grandmother's one-time mentor, and her friend as well. Elladan's old and dearly loved friend, though that friendship had been strained, from time to time. 

"Poison." Replied Elladan softly, after a few moments had passed, thinking of stealthy, dangerous trips he'd undertaken for the Wizard, trying to learn the source and stop the spread of the odd rash of deaths which had afflicted Gondor's great lords beginning just over two centuries ago. 

"Ah." Gandalf sat down beside him. Gandalf the White, now, who moved with speed and surety. He was still an old man, but he was a being of power cloaked in the visage of an old man, and that light and that power shone through. Purer, with Gandalf, than they ever had with Saruman. There had always been a shadow inside of Saruman, Elladan though, even if in the beginning it had been nothing more than the shadow of his own fear. 

"We saved many, Elladan." Gandalf pointed out gently. "I know that you mourn your fallen comrades. I mourn them too. But we won time, Elladan. At least a generation more than we would have had. And a generation's breathing room. It was not worthless." With a quiet nod towards where Aragorn stood with Prince Imrahil and Eomer-King, calmly listening to them and leading them, Gandalf continued, "You would not say, anymore, that the father was better suited to this endeavor than the son." 

"I would not." 

"Nor would I." Agreed Elrohir, walking out of the mist as if he'd been merely water vapor himself a few moments before. He fortunately hadn't heard the whole conversation, or he'd be demanding answers of Elladan. 

Elladan decided to distract his brother and simultaneously get information from Mithrandir. "Gandalf, was...Lady Finduilas' marriage to Lord Denethor, a happy one?" 

Gandalf puffed on his pipe. "That is, Master Elrondion, none of your business." 

"I am one of his surviving son's healers." Elladan contradicted levelly, "If we all survive this, I will be one of the healers helping Lord Faramir to recover from the damage done to him, by the Enemy and by...others." 

"Hmm." Mithrandir considered. Elladan did not press him, and even Elrohir remained unaccustomedly silent. 

At the last, Gandalf decided to answer. "I do not know, Elladan. Denethor loved her, I am sure. That Finduilas loved him, I am less sure. She liked him, and...I think that she at least she believed herself to be in love with him. That love was tested, later, by her illness. And by his own unfairness to his younger son." 

Elladan nodded, having rather suspected that. "I like your Lord Faramir, Mithrandir. I've liked most of your students, over the years." 

Gandalf snorted. "Liked! Ha, stolen, you mean!" 

Elladan smiled primly. "Well, if they would prefer to work with me in Imladris than in dusty libraries with you, that is just further proof of the intelligence which first attracted you to them to begin with." 

"He is a different, though." Elrohir interrupted, "Faramir. More sensitive. Almost a Seer." 

"He always has been." Gandalf agreed solemnly. 

Elladan and Elrohir communicated wordlessly for a moment, deciding between themselves to send Arwen word that Faramir was worth trusting, should all go poorly. 

"What are you thinking, Elrondionnath?" Asked Gandalf, slightly exasperated with them both. 

Elladan smiled cheekily. "Contingency plans." 

"Oh?" Gandalf was intrigued. "Your father's, eh?" 

"Plans it's best not to talk about." Elrohir corrected sternly. "They're in place, but the less we know..." 

Elladan wept on the inside for his sister, for what would happen to her if they all failed. He thought of Arwen, of the power of her love and her faith. Of Arwen as war leader, during the dark days after the fall of Arthedain, and her great fury and mercy. He thought of the love and the power and the fury of Arwen, and how the death of Aragorn, of all of them, how a loss that great could cause a terrible pain, terrible enough to unlock great power. 

While Elladan worried, Gandalf had reluctantly conceded that it was best if he knew nothing. 

"Just know." Elladan interrupted, "That if you fall with us, but you can come back yet again, as Gandalf the Gleaming, or what have you. Know that there may well be something to come back to." For Elladan could believe that Arwen, and Faramir, with the help of Elrond and Galadriel and Thranduil, and these enterprising young humans who served Faramir, could somehow snatch something back from the jaws of disaster. 

And the Valar help Sauron, facing Arwen's wrath after the death of Aragorn. Arwen had never truly chosen a path for herself, preferring to flit from one thing to another, learning many different skills and trades, but each of them just long enough to do it well before moving on. But when Arwen really wanted something, she was almost unstoppable. And Arwen loved Aragorn. 

"I will keep that in mind, Elladan, Elrohir." Gandalf agreed, and Elladan knew, just knew, that the Wizard thought the twins had been speaking of Galadriel. But it wasn't Galdadriel. It was Arwen. If Aragorn wasn't Sauron's doom, then his beloved very well might be. 

But Elladan would hope, against hope, that the valiant ringbearer would succeed. And even if Frodo did not, there was a bright side, for, 'Soon, very soon,' Elladan thought to himself, hiding a fierce smile, 'My brother and I will have many orcs to slay again.' 

Elrohir grinned toothily at him from across the fire. Ever since the death of their sister Andreth and the torture of their mother and sister at the hands of orcs, the twins had dedicated their lives to sending the foul creatures to the afterlife. 

*Soon.*


	2. Lockbearer, or "Galadriel's Champion"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Galadriel’s family learn that she has given a lock of her hair to that unlikeliest of elven allies, a dwarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who has left me encouraging reviews! A thank you to Beth, as well. Her Gimli is always a joy to read about, and an inspiration to me when trying to write him.

Legolas Thranduilon, Prince of the Greenwood, a lieutenant of Greenwood’s army, and archer of the fellowship, frowned at his wet left boot and leggings. His foot would not blister, nor did he risk falling sick as some of their human companions might at such a small inconvenience, but it was the nevertheless quite irritating. 

To one accustomed to moving through the trees nearly as swiftly as the wind, marching at the pace of a human army, even with frequent trips ahead and to the rear to scout, was quite slow indeed. Legolas had been hoping that they could avoid a detour around yet another of the pretty yet interminable rivers which beribboned Ithilien like a maiden’s spring time gown, and had gone to look at what seemed to be a promisingly dry route. 

The Ithilien rangers had not discouraged him, merely mentioning that it was a path they had never taken, and one which they would be loathe to take an army over, not knowing it well. His dwarven friend Gimli, on the other hand, had stated his opposition to the idea.

“Eh, elf, as sure as you know how many arrows are in your quiver, that is the porous roof of a not-so-dry cave ye’d be walking over. No fit path for an army, and even ye will be risking an ankle.”

Legolas had deemed that wholly unlikely. “I’ve not seen a single cave since we started our way through Ithilien.” He pointed out, “You may live in hope that we’ll get to stumble through the dark again, Gimli, but for myself, I’ll see if traversing over this hill is shorter than searching for the ford.”

“But there are a very large number of caves….” One of the rangers had begun to protest, only to be cut short by Gimli’s “Hush, now, he has to go and find out for himself. Stubborn beings, elves.”

“Oh, and dwarves are perfectly reasonable?” Legolas shot back in a friendly fashion as he leapt nimbly up the mossy green hill.

“Do keep yer footing, lad.” Was Gimli’s only reply, in place of his usual return sally. The genuine concern in his dwarven friend’s voice made Legolas step more gingerly than he otherwise might have. Which did not save his left leg from half-a-soaking when the hill did, in fact, turn out to be the roof of a cave with more than a few large holes in it, but it did save him from wrenching the limb.

Still, wet boots were never fun. Legolas frowned at his leg again, wondering exactly how much teasing he would be in for if he asked Elladan for the dry pair of leggings the younger peredhel twin had quietly offered him earlier in the day.

Gimli, eyes twinkling as he smoked his pipe at their fire, teased, “Would ye like a towel, Legolas? Or perhaps some warm milk?”

Before Legolas could think up a suitable rejoinder, Pippin wistfully said, “I’d like some warm milk. With cinnamon. Or any milk, really, even that goat milk which was on offer yesterday.”

Lord-the-Captain Rumil of Lothlorien, whom Legolas did not know nearly so well as he knew Rumil’s older brother Orophin, smiled fondly at the hobbit and then looked up at the retainer against whose side he was leaning. “Faron? You have some of the goat’s milk, do you not? Do give it to Squire Pippin. I’ve never cared for the taste.”

The tall dark-haired elf Faronglas Sinyefalion, sergeant and bodyguard both to Lord Rumil, frowned at his Lord-and-charge. Rumil had survived an axe wound to the head at the Battle of Helm’s Deep. He had been left behind with the other wounded Rorhirrim and Galadhrim, but had come to join the army anyway. From Orophin’s tales of his younger brother, and Elrohir’s tales of his youngest uncle, it did seem like something in keeping with Lord Rumil’s character. Legolas was quickly beginning to like him.

“I will do so, young-my-Lord, if you will eat the rest of your supper.” Faronglas said with good humor, his trust in Rumil’s honor such that even as he said so he was handing a flask of goat’s milk to young Pippin.

“Half.” Interrupted Elladan, “Half of his supper. He’s still having headaches, and I don’t want him sicking up. It will set back his progress, and it’s best to increase his meals gradually in any case.”

Rumil bore this indignity with relative good grace, although he did regard Elladan reproachfully as he commented, “You once teethed on my gloves and braids, nephew. Do show a modicum of respect, if you will.”

I respect you greatly, Uncle Rumil.” Elladan assured the blue-eyed elf fondly, “But if you want to ride into battle in just over a week’s time, you must listen to your healer.”

“It could be less time than that if we didn’t stop to tarry around every river like gawping tourists.” Legolas complained, feeling, besides frustrated at the army’s slow pace, somewhat sympathetic towards Rumil. Legolas had himself been the patient of Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond – and sometimes all three at once- during his almost five hundred years of life.

Elrond’s sons rolled their eyes tolerantly.

“There are many rivers in Ithilien, Legolas, but there are near as many caverns and underground rivers.” Aragorn pointed out kindly, laying a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “It is best to travel the paths these folk know.”

“Could we not perhaps travel through some of the caves, Strider?” Pippin inquired hopefully, “That might be shorter, as well as less wet. And they can’t all contain balrogs.” Pippin theorized, with an apologetic glance towards Gimli. 

“No, Squire.” Denied Elrohir, at the same time as Gimli answered Pippin more kindly, “Nay, lad.”

Raising a surprised eyebrow at Elrond’s heir, Gimli stayed quiet, apparently waiting to hear what Elrohir had to say. Legolas made space for Aragorn to join them, hiding a smile as his human friend sat beside him and laid a fold of his cloak inconspicuously over Legolas’ damp leg, warming Legolas and hiding the evidence of his misadventure all at once.

“It is extremely dangerous to travel through unknown cave systems, particularly where there are underground rivers," Elrohir began, "Dangerous even if you know the way and take the proper precautions, and sheerest folly if you do not. Moreover, the Lords of the House of Hurin who once dwelled in these lands believed that these caves connect to the tunnels and dungeons under Minas Morgul.”

“Along the river route, or obliquely?” Asked Gimli, intrigued.

Elrohir blinked in surprise, seemed to remember that Gimli was a dwarf and as such would know such things, and then replied, “Obliquely, I believe, although there was some talk of the system branching out around…..” 

What followed was a rather technical and detailed discussion on the dangers and rewards of caving, which Legolas did not entirely follow. It seemed to be something which Elrohir was interested in, although of course nowhere near so much so as Gimli.

“How does an elf come to know so much about caverns?” Gimli asked, evidently impressed as well as disbelieving. Legolas, glad to see that his new friend and his favorite cousin were getting along well, didn’t bother to point out that Elrohir was not, technically-speaking, an elf.

“I learned from our mother, who learned from our grandmother.” Elrohir replied.

“Lady Galadriel.” Legolas prompted, in case Gimli had not kept track of the different relationships between the members of Aragorn’s foster-family.

Gimli evidently had, but he gave Legolas a fond, covert wink of gratitude anyway.

Elrohir nodded gravely. “Our grandmother the Lady Galadriel was a friend and ally to the dwarves of Khazad-dum, and learned much of cave-lore from them. She was also a student in her youth of the Vala Aule – your Mahal, I believe.” 

“Your grandmother,” Said Gimli fervently, “would be enough to turn the most elf-hating of dwarves into a staunch supporter of your race.”

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged glances of mild surprise.

“Just go with it.” Legolas advised them. He respected Lady Galadriel, and had not seen in her the haughtiness of which his father complained, but he did not really want to hear another lengthy paean from Gimli in praise of the myriad virtues of the White Lady.

“Ah.” Said Elrohir neutrally, following Legolas’ lead.

“Um, thank you?” Offered Elladan, following suit.

Rumil smiled proudly, appearing pleased by the compliment to his adoptive mother. “Nana is certainly unique.” He added calmly.

“Lady Galadriel gave Gimli a lock of her hair, to carry into war against the Enemy.” Aragorn explained quietly.

The twins, Rumil, and even Faronglas showed surprise at that. Which truly meant something, as elves who were over an age old – or, in Faronglas’ case, several ages old – were hard to surprise. But perhaps dwarves managed to do so frequently enough that it wasn’t particularly noteworthy to them.

After Legolas and Gimli both affirmed Aragorn’s story to their nearly disbelieving elders, it was calm Rumil who said with surprise, “Naneth never does that.”

“Indeed.” Agreed Elladan, “Grandmother Galadriel’s unwillingness to part with a lock of her hair once started a war, in a manner of speaking.”

Staunchly supportive of the lady, Gimli refuted, “Well, I’m sure that the individual was unworthy, and the Lady Galadriel’s response more than justified.”

As the elder elves and peredhil stared in shock at Gimli, Legolas struggled to remember whether that comment would offend any of them. Deciding that it might offend Faronglas, who had lived through the kinslayings in the first age, Legolas decided to say something which would both divert attention away from Gimli’s strong opinions and at the same time annoy Elrohir, paying him back for his disparaging comments about Legolas’ earlier dousing.

“Doesn’t hair mean something?” Legolas asked innocently, as if he truly didn’t know, “I mean, isn’t there a thing? About hair?” He paused, pleased by both the storm cloud growing on his cousin’s face and by Aragorn’s well-hidden amusement at Legolas’ favorite game of Elrohir-baiting. 

“Yes,” Elrohir sneered, looking perfectly disgusted, “There is a ‘thing.’ Legolas….” He began heatedly, likely preparing to disparage Legolas’ scholarship, or his long-suffering tutors, or even the state of royal education in the Greenwood in general.

Elladan placed a gentle hand on his twin’s arm, stopping Elrohir's incipient diatribe. “Yes, Legolas.” Elladan answered, in the tone of the encouraging scholar and story-teller rather than the disappointed teacher, “There is a myth, or even a magic, in giving someone a lock of your hair. It is giving them your honor to hold, as they venture forth into battle.”

Gimli nodded proudly at that. “I will strive my best to be worthy.” He said, and Legolas felt a moment of pride and affection for his determined, stubborn, and surprisingly kind companion.

“I think that mother chose well.” Said Rumil fondly, before concluding that, “She most often does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope that you enjoyed! Encouraging feedback is always welcome, if you are so inclined.


	3. Poison Pill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the Black Gate, Lieutenant Dervorin of the Ithilien Rangers, Lord Faramir's sometimes-spy master, makes his preparations for the battle. Prince Amrothos does not entirely approve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A cut-scene of sorts, set before "Surprisingly Victorious," Chapter 7

Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth took a last moment to sharpen his sword and strengthen his composure. They went to face the Enemy, possibly to their last battle. His father Imrahil was to join Lord Aragorn in leading the vanguard, so that left Amrothos to command the Dol Amroth cavalry. The Ithilien rangers had spent the morning at their flank, and were only now preparing to separate to join the infantry and bow-men. 

To Amrothos' immediate left, stood his cousin's friend, Lieutenant and- apparently- spy master - Dervorin. The ranger incongruously pulled a small jewel case out of his belt pouch. Retrieving what looked like a tooth - a molar - Dervorin squeezed a small bead of adhesive ointment from a tube onto the tooth, and then stuck it into the back of his mouth. 

Amrothos found the whole scene very unsettling. "What in Eru's name is that, Dervorin?" He demanded. 

"You know what it is, imp." Dervorin said with weary fondness, "We had the same teacher, after all, you and I." 

That was true, so far as it went. Amorthos' grandfather Adrahil had once showed them his own poison tooth, when Amrothos was seven years old and Faramir and Dervorin were eleven. Adrahil's furthest back lower-molar had been removed. For all the time that his grandchildren - and their friends - had known him, Adrahil used a false tooth made out of shell and specially treated wood. But he also had a poison tooth in a special box, one made of treated wood strong enough to keep him from releasing it accidentally, but not strong enough to withstand a determined and targeted bite. So yes, Amrothos knew what it was. 

"Take it out and put it away, then." Amrothos ordered firmly, Prince-and-Captain to Lieutenant. "There will be death a plenty on the field today, Dev. No need for you to carry your own with you." 

Dervorin sighed. "'Rothos, listen to me. No, don't give Sir Bellasaer a subtle signal to fetch your Adar. Just listen." 

Amrothos, who had been about to signal to his second to get his father, reluctantly stopped. 

"I am not suicidal." Dervorin reassured him quietly, a laugh and a smile in his eyes despite his somber expression and the grim circumstances,"I do not want to die. But if today goes poorly, I cannot be captured and interrogated. The cost could be too high. I will wait as long as I can - I'm confident enough in my own abilities to know that I'm of more use to Gondor alive than dead. But I will break, if I'm tortured long enough. And I know too much about Faramir's plans, should we lose the day. I must not give that up, and there may come a time when I cannot live and have that information be safe. Do you understand, little Ro?" 

Amrothos swallowed a lump in his throat, then pulled Dervorin into a tight embrace. "I understand it, though I like it little. Be careful out there, brother." 

"Always." Dervorin promised, with a jaunty grin, "After all, I'm not the hero." 

Prince Imrahil's youngest son waited until his cousin's lieutenant had walked away. Then he said, too softly for Dervorin to hear, "But it's not much safer to be the hero's shadow, now is it?"


	4. Truly Awful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn's friends and family talk about Kings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cut-scene of sorts, set not long after "Surprisingly Victorious," Chapter 7 of The Road to Barad-dur and Back

It was Legolas who noticed the next time that Aragorn felt overwhelmed by the prospect of Kingship, and therefore it was Legolas (and Gimli) who came to badger him into some semblance at least of confidence and good cheer.

"How hard can it be?" Legolas said in a fortifying tone, "My father does it." 

Aragorn looked up, and sure enough, Gimli's beard was twitching. Meeting the King's eyes was too much; the dwarf could no longer suppress his merry, rumbling laugh. 

Legolas glared without heat at their dwarven friend. "I mean," the elven prince clarified, "That other capable leaders of my acquaintance do it, you bearded jackanapes." 

"Jackanapes!" Gimli objected, still chuckling. 

"I've done it," Legolas continued after a friendly sneer, "When my father was wounded, or away from the Wood." 

"Then anyone truly can....." Added Gimli, grinning. 

Switching to the tactic of loftily ignoring Gimli, Legolas continued, "and Aragorn has fewer spiders, and, this one year aside, fewer orcs than I had to deal with at the time." 

That made Aragorn think of the orcs, and bandits, and wargs, and other dark creatures roving over his land, and along his land's long unfriendly borders, and wondered how he - how they- would manage to deal with all of that. In addition to making sure that everyone was fed, and laws were administered, and....well, Aragorn was not entirely sure that he remembered all of what else needed to get done to run a kingdom. For once, Legolas and Gimli's amusing banter was not enough to lift his mood. 

A large, calloused hand fell gently on the shoulder of the new King of Men. 

"Ye've led us this far." Said Gimli, his voice soft and deep and reassuring, "All of us. I think that means that ye can do pretty much anything ye set your mind to, Aragorn my friend." 

As sudden as a breeze, Aragorn's two twin foster-brothers sat down on either side of him. Gandalf took a seat across the fire, nodding fondly to Aragorn in greeting. 

"Of course you can." Said Elrohir staunchly, agreeing with Gimli. 

"In fact," Elladan continued, "The real question isn't whether you'll do a good job as King, it's.... What shall we call you?" 

"I beg your pardon?" Asked Aragorn, as Legolas shook his head, indicating both that he did not know, and also that Legolas thought Aragorn likely didn't want to know. 

"Yes," Elrohir continued, "Shall we call you muindor-dithen aran nin? Our little brother king?" 

"Or tithen aran muin nin? Our dear little King?" 

"Or muindor-laes-aran-nin? Our baby-brother King?" 

"Or it might be better in Westron. King baby-brother." 

"High-King baby-brother." 

"Truly," Legolas interrupted, "The two of you are not helping." 

"Truly," Elrohir countered, undoubtedly trying his best to mimic Legolas' exact tone but not quite managing it, "Muindor-laes, you are worrying over something that will take care of itself. After all, you can't possibly be a worse King than Eldacar, and he did fine enough." 

Aragorn sighed, and then frowned. "Wait a moment- I thought that the two of you had liked King Eldacar of Arnor. Very much, in fact. Don't you have a portrait of him and his children in your sitting room?" 

"Oh, we loved Eldacar." Elladan affirmed, with an affectionate smile. 

"But he was an awful king." Elrohir explained, "Truly terrible. And he had the worst advisors, at first. But he picked up on that, in time." 

"He was a good man," Elladan agreed, "and a clever and loyal one. He found better advisors, learned when he had to listen to them, when he had to seek other viewpoints, and when he had to do things himself. He didn't try to run the kingdom alone, or with only the help of one faction." 

"Otherwise, it would have been a disaster." 

"Of epic proportions." 

"We miss Eldacar still." Elrohir explained wistfully. 

"In fact," Elladan elaborated, "to the extent that we don't have a complex about our having been difficult adolescents, we owe that to Eldacar." 

"He thought we were perfect." Said Elrohir with another wistful smile. 

Aragorn, remembering something from his lessons as a child, couldn't quite hide a smile. "Hmm," he began, happy to to be able to get a bit of his own back, "Erestor did once describe Eldacar as more than capable of denying reality whenever he pleased." 

"Haha." Replied Elrohir dryly. 

Gandalf chuckled. "I rather liked you, both of you, from the start." 

"Thank you." Said Elladan, pleased. 

Elrohir's sole focus remained on Aragorn. "You'll also be a better King than Earnur, muindor-laes." 

"Elrohir and I had a tremendous amount of respect for Earnur as a war-leader." 

"He was better than you, muindor-laes, better than Thranduil. Even Glorfindel admired him. I'm not sure that Middle Earth has ever seen his equal." Said Elrohir, from whom this was high praise indeed. 

"However, Earnur was not a good king," Elladan explained, "His last error, but by no means his first, was that he left his Kingdom heirless to go and answer a challenge from a foe he had been forewarned that he could not defeat." 

Elrohir nodded. "I am sure that you can be a better King, Aragorn." 

"Now that you know that all of those scholarly things you used to hate to do matter, of course." 

"Before, how could you be blamed for neglecting them?" 

"And," Elladan added, "if you are bad at it - which we don't think that you will be -" 

"You'll be smart enough to realize it, and honest and brave enough to admit it," 

"And then you'll find good advisors, like Eldacar." 

"And my father, for that matter." Legolas added, half-apologetically, "His patience for non-military matters is....hmm, ah..." 

"Non-existent?" Offered Elladan with a mischievous grin. Aragorn thought that he might have heard an amused huff of agreement from Gandalf. 

"Measured." Corrected Legolas, casting an irritated glance in Elladan's direction. 

Gimli cleared his throat, "Dain Ironfoot is a great King. But he has oft-times said that he is only able to rule well because he has my father and other steadfast friends as his advisors." 

Elrohir nodded regally, before returning his attention yet again to Aragorn. "In any case, muindor-laes, you'll find good advisors, and administrators, and you'll learn." 

"It really will turn out well, Estel. Trust us." Said Elladan, knocking his knee against Aragorn's. 

"I'm betting on you." Elrohir added, kicking Aragorn's other ankle. 

"Thank you, gwedyr-nin, my brothers, my friends." Said Aragorn, placing one hand over Elladan's hand on his left knee and the other over Elrohir's nearer knee. 

The twins squeezed his hands, then arose, pulling Aragorn to his feet along with them. 

"No, really, he is actually betting on you." Elladan explained, with a brotherly grin, "A lot of gold, and some of it mine." 

"Betting on you with complete confidence, muindor-laes. You'll do fine." Said Elrohir. Then the twins each pressed a kiss to Aragorn's brow, and went on their way, likely planning to boggle the mind of at least one more person before the last stars made their appearance.


End file.
